In You, In Me
by Artie Fowl
Summary: Hidey-ho Billy Joe. What's going on here?"


**1. in you, in me.**

Wilson grunted as he got up from his desk, making his way over to his filing cabinet. It was times like these where he wished that they weren't against the other wall, halfway across his office. His hand immediately went to his stomach, just above his hip, pain radiating up and down the right side. He could feel the bandage under his shirt, against his hand, a subtle reminder of the accident on the stairwell a few days ago.

He had been going down the stairs because the elevators were broken, in a hurry to get paperwork he had been overdue on, to Cuddy, when upon opening the the stairwell door that led into the lobby, he had been met with a large screwdriver. Said item, was in the hands of the maintenance man who was there to fix the elevator. The two forces combined, causing the screwdriver to plunge itself deep into Wilson's flesh. He had cried out, doubled over, and clasped the area that was wounded, the maintenance man, however, having no clue on what he had done, pulled the flathead back, causing the wound to make itself that much worse. To make a long story short, he had spent two days in a hospital bed, getting stitches, tetanus shots, and crappy Jello.

Wilson shook his head, he needed to get back to work. He rummaged through the files in the drawer, grabbing at random files, hoping to find what he was looking for, when one of them broke free from its steel prison, and lept out, splattering its contents upon the floor. One hand at his side, the other still shoved in the drawer, he stared down with disdain at the file at his feet.

_Great_, he thought, _just great..._

He slammed the drawer closed, and leaned against the cabinet, preparing to scooch himself down along it, in an attempt to grab the file, when his office door banged open, and House walked in.

"Hidey-ho, Billy Joe. What's going on here?" House glanced at the mess on the floor momentarily before coming to a stop just in front of it, his gaze fixing itself on Wilson seconds later. "Are you rebelling? If you're rebelling, let me know. I'm sure I can top it. Tossing a silly little file to the floor with not get your point across. Hell, tossing the whole cabinet down won't either; believe me, I've tried."

"House, what do you want?"

House's eyes widened innocently as he spoke, "Nothing."

"Great, so if you want nothing, why are you here?"

"I was walking, or rather, " He drew his cane up to eye level and waggled it for a second, "I was limping by. Decided to stop in."

"So you stopped by and. . ." Wilson was irritated, he was in pain, and he was in no mood to deal with House's antics right now. He just pretty much wanted to get rid of him as soon as possible.

House said nothing as his eyes fell to the mess on the floor again, he leaned his cane against the couch, and bent down to it, using it to help himself down to the floor, it took a little work, but he managed to kneel down on his good leg. Wilson watched as House began to scrape the papers together, however messily, and place them back into the manila folder from whence they came.

"You should really take better care of your things; what would your patients say? Well, probably not much." He said, stopping to glance at one of the sheets, "This one's dead."

Wilson rolled his eyes, and waited silently for House to finish.

He had finally been able to come to work, but the whole ordeal had made pretty much everything Wilson did, a chore. However, a most unexpected thing had happened as well – House, yes, _House_ – had decided to _help_ him. If he needed something from a bottom drawer, House just _happened_ around the corner to get it for him, if only to make fun of him while he did. If Wilson's shoelaces were untied, he didn't rest until he had found a willing bag of flesh to come tie them.

Though House would never admit to another living soul that he was helping Wilson. He just always happened to be somewhere nearby. It was kind of creepy, because it made Wilson feel as though House was stalking him, watching his every move. But, it was oddly... comforting. To know that House at least cared enough to do so. It was easy to forget; far too easy in fact.

House bounced the folder twice upon the floor, making sure the folders straightened themselves out. He didn't take too great a care in making sure that they did, because the papers stuck out in every which way, not exactly neat. House got up, slowly, leaning heavily on the couch, and then his cane. He stood straight, handed Wilson his fallen folder, who took it from him greatfully.

"Thanks, House."

He gave a curt nod in Wilson's direction, averting his gaze. He turned, and headed for the office door, when Wilson spoke softly to his retreating back.

"Why are you helping me so much? You've never done... _anything_ for me before."

House was silent for several seconds, his head turned slightly to his left as if he were going to look at Wilson over his shoulder, but he did not.

"I know what it's like to be in pain, and need help."

And with that, he made his way swiftly out of the office, closing the door loudly behind him, causing Wilson to wince at the sound it made.

"Oh."

Wilson nodded to no one in particular – more of an acknowledgment of sorts - and went back to his work.


End file.
